


Carver Hawke and the Cursed Sword

by MaverikLoki, Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Series: A Comedy of Assholes (Rhapsody, etc.) [31]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Carver Hawke has a great big sword, F/M, Poorly-fitting underthings, Sordid swording, lingerie shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8982088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaverikLoki/pseuds/MaverikLoki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: Merrill's certain Carver's the best sworder in all of Kirkwall, and she appreciates that he takes such good care of his... 'sword'. But, after a reprimand from above leaves him wearing smalls, he discovers standard issue templar smalls are a bit too small. Never fear! Merrill to the rescue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Zillah, who wanted some fluff with a hint of swording, starring Carver and Merrill.

If there was something Merrill would never regret, it was her choice of humans. Carver was lean and strong, his body almost as big as her whole bed, even the new bed, which was much nicer than the old one, really. As was the new house. But, the same old Carver was just what she liked.  
  
She kissed her way down his chest, nuzzling at his hips, only to come up short as she caught a look at his knob. "Carver, why didn't you tell me you caught something! I could've gotten a salve from the clinic, before you got here!"  
  
"What?" Carver propped himself up on one elbow to get a better look at whatever she was seeing. "Oh, no. That's not... It's just... I have to do something. You know how I don't wear smalls at work? Well, I have to wear smalls at work, now. And they're horrible. Why would anyone wear something that chews through their skin, every time they move? I mean, I get that we're not supposed to be in relationships, without the approval of the Chantry, but I have to wonder if this isn't what made Meredith's men so mean! But, you'll kiss it better, won't you?"  
  
"Oh dear," Merrill said, brows knit in concern. "That is not how smalls are supposed to work. Does the Chantry know that?" She pressed a kiss to the point of his hip.  
  
"It's a little to the left," Carver teased, but then Merrill was sitting back on her heels. "And I don't think 'better smalls for templars' is high on the Chantry's list of priorities."  
  
"Well, it's higher on my list," Merrill said, her hand still teasing up one of Carver's muscled thighs. "And I know just where you can get them, too!"  
  
If anything, Carver looked more concerned. "I think I'm fine getting my own smalls," he said, sitting up just long enough to pull her back down on top of him, her chest pressed to his. "Besides, don't we have something else that's a higher priority?" He punctuated the question with a kiss.  
  
"Tomorrow," Merrill mumbled into the kiss, and that was the last they spoke of it that night.

* * *

  
The next day, Merrill made her way to Fran's, slipping two copper pieces to an urchin, to make sure she wouldn't get lost on the way. She had no doubt Fran and Varania would be able to solve Carver's problem, and maybe the difficulties of the rest of the Order, if it was as bad as Carver seemed to think. But, if it was, wouldn't there be more templars in the clinics? No, probably not. The mages in the Gallows would probably make enough potions for that.  
  
"Merrill! How good to see you!" Fran was all smiles, and the two noblewomen she'd been helping choose bodice designs looked at each other in surprise, as she addressed the baroness so familiarly. Then again, the baroness was just an elf.  
  
"Hello, Fran!" Merrill greeted her, beaming. "It has been a while, hasn't it?" She offered the pair of noblewomen a congenial smile as well, pretending not to notice the sidelong way they had been looking at her or the way they whispered behind their hands.  
  
"Much too long," Fran replied, ushering her into the shop with a wave of her hand. "Once I find these lovely ladies something spectacular to wear, I will be at your disposal. I have a pair of stockings from Orlais that I think you will like."  
  
"Thank you, but I'm shopping for someone else today," Merrill said. "And I didn't mean to interrupt! I'll just have a look a  
  
Merrill was examining a pair of frilly, green smalls that seemed to be inspired by Dalish designs, when Fran came back to her.  
  
"Ah! You've found Theron's collection!" Fran smiled again. "He brought in some sketches and asked if we could make something with them. And now I have ladies in Hightown wearing stories of Mythal."  
  
"I'm surprised they're not Andruil, if Theron brought them in." Merrill turned over the pair she was holding, to look at the back. "Oh, this one is the story of Andruil and Ghilan'nain!"  
  
"But, what can I do for you, today?" Fran asked, finally, leading Merrill over to a wall of folded stockings.  
  
"I have a problem. Or, rather, Carver has a problem. Actually, the templars may have a problem, and I think you should put in a proposal with Commander Cullen, but that's a much bigger problem than just Carver." Merrill rambled, as she tended to, before getting to the heart of the matter. "His smalls are too small, and I don't think the fabric is very nice, the way he's gotten all scraped up."  
  
Fran's eyebrows arched up. "Scraped up? Oh dear. It does sound like a combination of fabric and fit. I am sure we can find something here for him of much better quality. I don't suppose you have his measurements?" As she spoke, Fran guided her back over to the shop's selection of smalls, some of which went beyond small into minuscule.  
  
"Yes," Merrill said, brightening. "Well. Not in numbers. He's about this big..." She gestured at her arm. "And about this wide around the hips." She gestured in relation to herself.  
  
Fran had worked wonders from less. "Is there a particular style you think he would favour?"  
  
"Well. I don't think he would be too comfortable in anything _too_ skimpy, though I suppose that's something I should have asked. This is a bit different than buying for Theron."  
  
Fran pulled out her tape and began to measure the shapes Merrill offered her. "My, there's quite a bit of him, isn't there? A very different size to Theron," she remarked, pulling out a book of patterns to compare to her numbers. She tapped at one of the pages. "How about this one? Nice high hips, so they'll stay on, but plenty of room for everything he's carrying." She checked the numbers again. "You're sure about this one? That seems a bit large."  
  
"Oh, yes. His sword is very big, whether he's wielding it or not." Merrill chuckled at her own joke.  
  
"That's probably the problem, then. These fabrics don't have much give in them, and if they're cut for someone of a more regular size..." Fran raised her eyebrows, pointedly, and handed a few labelled scraps of cloth to Merrill. "I might choose one of these fabrics, if he's worried about chafing. They're soft and they breathe well, so he won't be stuck in his own sweat as much."  
  
Merrill hummed, running her fingers over the swatches of fabric. "Oh yes, these are much better," she said, marvelling at how soft each one felt against her skin. She picked the one that was softest. "Do you think he could have something in a nice blue?"  
  
Fran grinned. "I'll show you our colour selection, and you can let me know which blue."

* * *

Merrill half-expected Carver to still be lounging in bed when she came back, but the light sloshing of water told her that he was awake and occupied. She knocked on the door but didn't wait for a response before walking in.  
  
He looked up from the shallow bath, somewhat more grimly than might be expected, given the open tin of salve on the side of the tub and the hand currently polishing his sword.  
  
"Practising your swording, for when I get home?" Merrill teased. "That's very sweet of you. Why don't you dry off a bit and try on what I brought you -- and then I can take it back off you, and you can show me what an excellent sworder you are?"  
  
Carver nearly choked on his tongue. "It's a salve. For the chafing."  
  
"Well, all the more reason you'll like what I've bought you!" Merrill held up the paper-wrapped package, with the shop logo stamped on the back.  
  
"Isn't that the place Anton goes, for all that weird shit he wears for parties? I don't know that dressing my knob up like an Orlesian nightingale is really going to help anything," Carver protested, wedging the cork plug out of the drain, with his toes. He might not wear whatever was in there, but he was pretty sure he could distract Merrill with his ... 'sword', either way.  
  
Merrill giggled. "Fran's has more than that. Your brother is just silly, but you knew that already. All your brothers are silly! Anyway, it's... well, just open it!"  
  
"In a minute. Hand me that towel?"  
  
Merrill obliged, openly appreciating the view as Carver stood, her eyes following the beads of water that travelled down his chest until he wiped them away. He let the towel drop to his feet, not bothering to cover himself in front of Merrill, and reached for the package. Merrill bounced on her feet in anticipation as he tore the paper.  
  
Carver huffed a laugh. "You went out and got me smalls?"  
  
"I got you the very best smalls," Merrill declared, watching as he unfolded a pair.  
  
"They look like you pulled them off some noblewoman," Carver scoffed, setting the package aside and holding up the first pair.  
  
"Well, I didn't. Fran made them to fit you. A noblewoman's would be much smaller, especially in front." Merrill nodded and pointed to the curve of the extra fabric. "I'm told you can definitely fit your greatsword in there."  
  
"They look ridiculous!" Carver argued, even as he rubbed his fingers against the cloth. At the very least, they were a much nicer fabric than the cheap linen he'd been wearing. These would feel good -- possibly a little too good.  
  
"Just try them!" Merrill insisted. "They'll look much better on you."  
  
The look Carver gave her was dubious.  
  
"Please?" Merrill asked, and it was unfair, really, the way she looked up at him with those large, pleading eyes.   
  
Carver glanced around, making sure that there were no windows open for anyone to spot him through. If this got back to the other templars... well. He didn't want to think about that.  
  
"Fine," he sighed. "But only because I love you, and I'm looking forward to the part where you have me take them off again."  
  
Reluctantly, Carver stepped into them, pulling the fabric up over his thighs, and... yes, that really was much better, wasn't it. The fabric was soft, soothing against places he was used to feeling chafed. He shifted, walking in a small circle, waiting for them to pull uncomfortably or ride up.  
  
"So?" Merrill prompted him.  
  
"It's a nice fabric," Carver admitted. "And they haven't crammed themselves into my butt yet, which is a nice surprise."  
  
"Yes, it's just your brothers who like things crammed in their butts," Merrill teased, walking around Carver to see for herself. "And it's definitely a nice view from behind. Of behind? It's a very nice behind to be looking at, but I think I like it better in these than what you usually wear."  
  
Carver stepped toward the mirror, before he could give too much thought to what he was doing. "I look like I belong at the Rose," he protested, eyeing the way the cloth accented his hips and made his already long legs look even longer.  
  
"Well, I've always thought you'd do well, there. You have a very nice body and a very big sword." Merrill wrapped her arms around him, one hand sneaking down to squeeze that sword in its new sheath.  
  
"But, not for all of Kirkwall!" Carver sputtered, canting his hips to press against her hand. The fabric still felt soft, even pressed tightly against him.  
  
"Just for me? Well, isn't that a lovely gift?" Merrill ran her palms down Carver's thighs. "So, are they better?"  
  
"I'll try them. Just for a few days." Carver lifted his arm not to elbow Merrill in the head as he twisted around. "Do you want to take them off me yet?"


End file.
